


From the Flames

by trash_devil



Category: Fire Emblem Echoes: Mou Hitori no Eiyuu Ou | Fire Emblem Echoes: Shadows of Valentia, Fire Emblem Series
Genre: Angst, Canon Death, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, M/M, Trauma, Wounds, back at it again with the random ships that just swallow me whole, repressing memories
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-24
Updated: 2019-05-08
Packaged: 2019-08-06 23:58:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16397531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trash_devil/pseuds/trash_devil
Summary: Conrad had seen enough senseless death. He wasn't about to watch another person throw their life away.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> lmao I need to stop starting new fics  
> ... anyway I thought of this ship randomly one day and from then on I was doomed

Rinea was dead.

That one thought ripped through his head, tore at his heart, thundered through him with an agony far worse than the physical pain of his broken body. 

Rinea was dead. Gone. Obliterated. 

By his own hand. He had destroyed the one thing he loved most in the world.

He should be dead too. He wished he were dead too.

But he wasn’t. He was alive, aching, filled to the brim with pain and the tears he had long forgotten how to shed. They leaked slowly out of the corners of his eyes, warm as the blood pooling beneath his body.

Did not even death want him? Was that it? Was he so ruined, so disgraced, so worthless that death itself wouldn’t touch him? 

… So be it. He would lie here forever if he had to. Even if death never came, even if he spent eternity lying shattered on the cold stone floor, he would not get up. He refused. Without Rinea, there was no point.

Without Rinea, he had nothing. Duma had asked everything of him in exchange for another chance. 

And like every other chance he was granted, he squandered it.

He was resolved not to move. 

Life had other ideas. Life nudged him in the side with a boot and murmured, “He’s still breathing.”

A groan slipped out of his ruined throat in reply as life dragged him to his feet. “I don’t want to watch _anyone_ throw their life away,” that voice said. Berkut couldn’t see its owner; his vision was filled with glowing afterimages, but it was warm and gentle and soothing.

“Brother, are you sure about this?” asked a different voice, higher, softer, more uncertain.

“What harm could it do?”

What harm indeed, Berkut thought numbly. What harm indeed. He closed his unseeing eyes and let the hands guide him.

Just a few short minutes before, he would never dream of letting anyone lay a finger on him.

\----

There was only so much that the healers could do, but for now, at least, Berkut was alive. He would live.

He had lived through worse, Conrad could see as he looked down on the prince’s sleeping face, and under much less care. His pale skin was all bruises and burns and scars, the marks of a lifetime of pain.

Whipped into cruelty. 

Conrad settled himself down on the edge of the bed, watching Berkut’s face. He looked so vulnerable, so young. He _was_ young. 

Somehow, it had escaped him that Berkut was by no means a man. Just a boy, no older than Alm. But Fate does not care for age; it would put a child on the throne and toss another into the fire.

Fire…

Now was not the time. Conrad dug the heels of his palms into his eyes and exhaled slowly. Not the time.

The sleeping form next to him murmured, “Rinea…” 

So much pain in a single name. In a single voice.

Conrad knew that Berkut would survive his wounds; that was never the question. The question was if he would survive the aftermath. If he could live with Alm as his king, and, more importantly, if he could live without Rinea.

But damned if Conrad would just let him die.


	2. Chapter 2

“Hey, you shouldn’t be walking around yet,” Conrad called out. The only reply he got was his own voice bouncing back at him.

“Berkut, are you even listening to me?”

The prince in question still didn’t look up. All his attention was focused on the task of putting one foot in front of the other, his arms spread out for balance. 

He was so absorbed in this task that Conrad wondered if he had even heard him at all. He moved closer and cleared his throat.

“Berkut.”

Berkut flinched, his head jerking up, and for a moment Conad saw the fear glimmering in his eyes as their gazes met. 

And then it vanished, for Berkut knew this game. It was one he had played since childhood. The game where you pretend nothing is wrong even though everything is. Where you look your opponent in the eye and pretend that your mother never wrapped her hands around your neck, tighter and tighter, screaming how much she hated you. Where there’s a million other things that you have to pretend didn’t happen.

Unfortunately, his opponent knew it well too. Conrad knew a lot about masks. But instead of calling him out and claiming his victory, he offered his arm to the prince.

Without thinking, Berkut took it.

As soon as he realized what he had done, he felt a wave of hot shame crash over him. His cheeks burned with mortification; him, having to rely on another man’s strength? No. _No._

But no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t let go without tumbling to the tiles.

“Come on, now,” Conrad said. “Careful.”

Berkut tried to say something back, but all that came out was a sort of raspy croak that hurt so badly that he didn’t make a second attempt at speaking. His free hand went up to his throat. 

Conrad smiled sadly at him. “Don’t try to talk yet. The smoke burned your throat and lungs.” His gaze turned distant, and his smile faded. “Believe me, I’d know.”

To his surprise, Berkut leaned against him, his head coming to rest on Conrad’s shoulder guard. He didn’t expect such a display of weakness and… well, humanity from such a seemingly coldhearted prince.

Berkut had surprised himself, too, but he so longed for the feeling of cold metal against his skin that he ignored his pride. There was a reason that only Rinea had seen him without his armor. 

The metal was soothing. He let out a slow, painful breath that scraped its way up his scorched throat. 

"Just like that," Conrad said reassuringly.

Neither of them quite knew what he was referring to, but his voice felt good in Berkut's ears, the sound gentle against his frayed nerves, and maybe the words didn't need any meaning at all. As long as there was the sound, the melody of someone else's voice, made sweet by something like caring.


	3. Chapter 3

“Are you really certain this is a good idea, Conrad?” Celica asked.

He didn’t need to ask to know she was talking about Berkut. He frowned, a little hurt by her doubt. “You thought Sonya was a good idea, and I deferred to your judgement then. I would hope you have the same trust in me.”

“Sonya is… different.”

“Be that as it may, Berkut is in no shape to betray us, even if he wanted to.”

“I just fear for Alm…” Worry was clear in her voice.

Conrad smiled gently at her. “Alm can take care of himself. Besides, he’s rather eager to speak to his cousin.”

Her brow was still furrowed in concern, but she nodded. “I suppose so…” She hesitated, then asked, “Does he need the service of my staff?”

He blinked, and, not entirely sure if he had heard her right, asked “Your staff?”

“Yes.”

“Well, yes, it would probably help.”

Celica answered, “Then I shall provide” before he could add the _but you don’t have to do it._ She linked her arm in his. “Let’s go, brother.”

 

Berkut snapped awake when he heard two pairs of footsteps rather than the usual one. He sat up so quickly that it made his head swim. His heart pounded in his ears.

“Prince Berkut,” Celica said cordially,” I hear your recovery is going well?”

His eyes darted from her to Conrad and back again, searching for some reassurance. 

She answered his uncertain gaze with a beatific smile that made something ache deep in his chest because Rinea had smiled like that, too, and he had to look away.

“May I?”

Berkut’s mouth opened, then closed. He couldn’t answer even if he wanted to. His eyes flicked back to Conrad, who smiled as well and took his hand.

“It’s okay,” he said softly, and gave Berkut’s hand a reassuring squeeze.

So Berkut closed his eyes and nodded. 

Part of him still protested this weakness, this naked display of his fears, but it wasn’t like he had any dignity left to lose. With nothing left to fight for, he might as well resign himself to this new fate.

“Oh dear...” Celica murmured at the sight of his wounds, voice full of sympathetic pain. “This… We didn’t…” 

They didn’t, right? 

They had fought him, but surely they were not responsible for all this? For the fingers bent slightly sideways or back, broken and healed out of place? For the arms, battered, bruised, scarred, weeping red gashes fresh with infection, for the finger-shaped marks around his neck? 

She looked up at Conrad, a question in her eyes. 

He shook his head in answer, and so she pressed her staff to the broken prince’s skin and did not ask of the source of these wounds. 

Berkut did not open his eyes. Conrad did not let go of his hand.

“You’re safe,” Conrad whispered, and Berkut wondered if, for the first time in his life, there was some truth to that statement. If he was, at last, safe.


	4. Chapter 4

“Tell me about Father!” Alm yapped at Berkut’s heels like a puppy.

Berkut hiss out a sigh through his teeth. “I’m afraid I can’t tell you what you want to hear,” he said. His voice was little more than a creaky whisper, but it no longer scraped its way up his throat like it was made of knives.

Alm was undeterred. “I wanna hear anything you know!”

He pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed again. It was noticeably shakier than the first. “... We did not talk much. Unless it was about how I had failed him, or how I might make up for those failings, or…” his face twitched, “the Brand.” His eyes darted to Alm’s hand.

“... Oh.”

“Of course, now one with the Brand is on the throne. All is as it should be.”

Alm slowed, looking guilty. 

Whatever thoughts he was thinking were interrupted when Berkut said, “Stop frowning. It doesn’t suit you.”

He blinked. “Huh?” 

“No one wants to see their king in a slump. Celica would have my head if I upset you.”

Alm stared at the prince. Was Berkut… joking with him? Were they having an actual casual conversation? With, like, banters and stuff? Maybe they were becoming more like family!

There was a new spring in his step as he followed Berkut now. And, as always, new questions. “So what kinda stuff did you do back home? How are you liking Zofia? Can you teach me some of the emperor things you learned? You were really good at leading your soldiers! And-”

His voice petered out as Berkut held up a hand for silence.

“One thing at a time, Alm. Your mindless prattle is giving me a headache.”

“Sorry,” Alm said quickly.

Berkut just rolled his eyes.

He was secretly relieved by Alm’s questioning. The young king had questions only he could answer. That made him useful. That gave him a purpose. That was a reason for them to keep him around a little while longer.

He did not believe in things like kindness and mercy. He did not consider these deeper reasons for his survival. His head hurt enough already.


	5. Chapter 5

Berkut rested his arms on the windowsill, looking out over the snow-coated courtyard. 

He had never liked snow. It made travel hard, troops lose faith, horses stumble. It could hide dangers and pitfalls, could turn an ankle with one careless step.

But Python and Forsyth, far below where he watched, seemed entirely oblivious to the treacherous nature of snow as they pelted each other with snowballs.

Berkut sighed heavily. He did not understand.

“Why so gloomy?” Conrad’s voice asked. 

Berkut turned slightly to face him. “Why so cheerful?” he retorted.

Conrad shrugged, “Why do I need a reason?”

“Everything has a reason.”

“Maybe.” He sat down beside Berkut. “So what do you think the reason is for me coming up here?”

Berkut scowled, “I don’t like rhetoricals.”

“... It’s you.”

“What?”

“I came up here because you were here,” Conrad said. He tilted his head back to look up at the ceiling. “You always seem so lonely. I thought I’d keep you company.”

Anyone else would likely be none-too-kindly kicked out of the room. But, since it was Conrad, the only person that Berkut put any amount of trust in in this new place, he just sighed and turned back to the window.

Conrad was undeterred by his silence. He started to talk, about birds and flowers and Zofian spring and whatever else came to mind.

Berkut, although he would never admit it, listened. There was something soothing to it. Something… Something like what he had lost.

He closed his eyes and refused to acknowledge his memories. It would be so much easier to just forget.


	6. Chapter 6

He was Lord Berkut, finest tactician in all of Rigelia. He was twenty, now, his skin covered in unsightly burn scars from- from…

He wore a ring on his finger from when he proposed to… who?

He liked…

He was…

He…

“Berkut?” said a voice, and a hand found his. He saw the matching ring, and his unease melted away. 

Conrad smiled brightly at him. Berkut almost smiled back.

Three years ago, Conrad could never imagine him smiling. 

Two years ago, Conrad could never imagine him happy.

One year ago, Conrad could never imagine they’d be… here.

Hand in hand. Six months married.

Celica had presided over the ceremony. 

He felt a little guilty for it, taking Rinea’s place, but when he mentioned her name now it was met with nothing but Berkut’s discomfort and confusion.

He had still been young then. Perhaps the only way his 17-year-old brain could deal with that trauma was to forget it. 

Even now, though, the prince would sometimes wake up screaming. Crying. Missing something, _someone_ so very important and so very lost to him.

Sometimes Conrad would wake up much the same, flames burned into his eyelids, the disaster that destroyed his family.

Berkut was a clumsy comforter, but as he wiped away Conrad’s tears and said “It’s okay,” in a husky whisper, Conrad wouldn’t have him be any other way.

What was done was done, what was lost was lost.

“It’s okay. I’m right here.”


End file.
